


Wolves and Foxes Can Both Bite

by the_painless_moustache



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And a very touching moment involving popcorn, Card Games, Domestic, Don't mention Liam either, Everyone Is Alive, Except for Jackson, M/M, Mentions of the nogitsune, Pack Dad Derek Hale, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Stiles POV, There's a scene with a Phooka too, Well he's alive I guess I just don't mention him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 07:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3373160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_painless_moustache/pseuds/the_painless_moustache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles doesn't realize he's kind of mom-ing the pack until it's far too late to stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wolves and Foxes Can Both Bite

**Author's Note:**

> HEY! Here it is! Right on time!!  
> You guys should play in the lottery, because out of all those stories you picked this one...one of the only finished ones in the ENTIRE LIST.  
> So, anyway, thanks for voting! Hope you enjoy your choice!

 Stiles doesn't realize he's kind of mom-ing the pack until it's far too late to stop. He's always been the care-taker sort, first with his mom when she got sick and then with his dad. It's a control thing, a way to make himself feel like he has some sort of say in what happens to him.

 It starts with Scott, when he turns. Stiles goes into immediate 'fix this' mode and dives into books and shady websites. When the kanima thing happens with Jackson, even though he hates the guy, he immediately starts protecting his peers from Derek's accusations and crazy beta minions.

 By the time the packs merge together and Derek's back to beta mode, Stiles is making lunches in the mornings to bring with him, picking up Erica and Isaac both on his way to school, and double checking all the were-whatevers' homework. Except for Boyd, who only lets Stiles remind him of things he needs to do after school. Like grocery shopping for the loft and his shift at the ice rink or lacrosse practice or ROTC or—only once—a date with Erica.

 Stiles realizes he's babying them when Isaac smears pizza sauce all over his face and Stiles immediately just grabs a napkin to wipe it up instead of just mentioning it. And Isaac _lets him_. No one else in the room seems to think this is weird, and in a way it _isn't_ because Stiles has been doing this sort of shit for weeks. Erica's got her head in his lap and her leg's in Boyd's, and Isaac is curled on his other side. Scott's on the floor, leaning against one of Stiles' legs and one of Isaac's and Allison is in his lap with Kira in hers. Lydia is sitting with Malia in another chair, with Derek taking up another chair on his own.

 Stiles pauses with his hand on Isaac's mouth, which draws the wolf's attention. "Stiles, c'mon." he whines, just like a kid would to a parent. Stiles pulls away and detangles himself from the puppy pile. They all make discontented noises except for Boyd and Allison, but Stiles is too busy hoping over legs to pay attention.

 "Stiles, where are you going?" Scott pouts.

 "I—uh—homework. I have…homework." he stutters, struggling his shoes on.

 "So do the rest of us, but it's _Friday_." Erica says, glaring at him. "Come sit your ass back down, Stilinski."

 "I can't. I have—I meant housework. Not—I have stuff. To do. That isn't here."

 "Stiles?" Malia puts in, frowning. "You're heart is beating really fast."

 "Can you all just pretend you don't know I'm lying?" Stiles snaps at her.

 "To be fair, Allison and I are both pretty human and even we can tell you're lying." Lydia says.

 Stiles flips her off and snags his bag from the pile of stuff beside the door. He has to look back, because Derek's stupid loft door is a heavy steel thing that needs to be shoved shut. They're all still staring at him, Isaac and Scott looking beyond hurt and everyone else looking different shades of annoyed.

 Except for Derek, who just looks slightly suspicious. Stiles doesn't want to think of him, though, not when he's just coming to the realization that he's pack _mom_. Because if anyone is pack dad, it's Derek. With that thought, he slams the door shut and runs.

 He gets home and throws his bag into his room before him, collapsing onto his bed and rubbing his eyes. "Okay, Stilinski, deep breaths. It's not a big deal. You made it weird. It didn't have to be weird. Wolves are pack animals, right? They take care of each other, that's just what they do. So what if you're not a wolf? You're like a…a pseudo-wolf. An adopted wolf."

 He drops his hands to his sides and stares at his ceiling. Even the popcorned paint seems to be judging him. He can hear his mom laughing, a memory of almost ten years ago. A memory of her laughing and the sting of it and her assuring him she's just laughing because she loves it. Loves him, loves the way he takes care of people even when he's barely old enough to take care of himself.

 His phone buzzes angrily in his pocket and he drags it out with a sigh. He answers without looking. "If this is Scott, don't try to convince me to come back, it's not going to happen. If this is Lydia, don't try to dig into my psyche, you know I hate it when you do that. It makes me feel very emotionally violated and as someone who—"

 "It's not either of them." Derek interrupts, snorting softly.

 Stiles blinks at his ceiling dumbly, then pulls his phone away from his ear to check the number. Sure enough, it reads off _Sourwolf_ with a yearbook photo Stiles had hunted down and snapped on his phone as the contact ID. He brings the phone back. "Huh. Well, I don't have a predetermined speech for you, so you're probably going to have to tell me why you called."

 "You looked freaked out when you left." Derek says, a shrug in his voice but underlying concern there as well. "I wanted to make sure that—that everything was okay. You know, we had that run in with the Forest Nymphs last week, and…"

 "You wanted to check on me." Stiles sighs. "I get it, you don't need to make excuses."

 "You—what?"

 "We're pack parents, Derek." Stiles tells him forlornly.

 " _What?_ " Derek repeats, a little louder.

 "You're the pack dad. You protect your children with your life, you bring the shotgun—or claws, as the case may be—any time one of our girls brings a new boy home."

 "I do not."

 "Lydia and Kyle."

 Derek pauses for a moment. "That was different." Stiles lets the words sit between them for a minute before he hears Derek whispers a quiet " _Fuck_."

 "I know." Stiles agrees with a sigh. "When did my life become mothering a bunch of were-creatures?"

 "When did my life become _fathering_ a bunch of were-creatures?" Derek asks back, sounding horrified. "You I get, but _me?_ "

 " _Me_ you get? Wha—does everyone notice?"

 "Stiles, you make them lunch in the mornings."

 "I—you know, their senses are really delicate, okay? _I_ don't even like the slop that comes out of that cafeteria, I can't expect a bunch of superhumans with twenty times the taste buds to put up with it. And, like, it was just supposed to be Scott at first! But then Erica and Malia started whining and Kira and Isaac just looked so sad and Boyd—well, Boyd didn't really say anything but I like to feel included with him, you know? He just keeps shutting me out and— _oh my god_."

 Derek laughs quietly. "I know."

 "I'm a mom." Stiles moans miserably.

 There's a small creak and then Stiles' dad is blinking at him from the door. "Uh, Stiles?"

 "Dad, I'm a mom." he tells him. "You have seven grandchildren."

 "I'm going to assume I missed most of this conversation and back out now."

 "You're a terrible grandfather! Why do you never watch them for me?! I want to have a life, too!" Stiles shouts after him, laying back with a heavy sigh. "So what now?" he asks Derek.

 "What do you mean?"

 "Well, we're pack parents. Don't we have some sort of responsibilities to take care of?"

 "I think we're already taking care of them." Derek says flatly.

 Stiles snorts. "Yeah, you're probably right."

 "But…you're okay with it? Right?"

 "With what? Playing house with werewolf children? Sure. I mean, I've been doing it for months anyway."

 "You just seemed really upset about it."

 "No. I mean, it's…a shock, I guess, to realize it, but it's not like I'm going to stop. Just like you get the urge to howl at the moon, I get the urge to remove lint from off t-shirts and force feed the pack vegetables. Though we're going to have to start conspiring now, you know. We can't let the kids get the best of us."

 "What?"

 "They could be using us, Derek. Asking me for permission and then when I say no just going to you. We've got to present a united front."

 "You're an idiot."

 "I know it sounds like I'm joking, but I'm not. Packs in general have to present a united front, right? It's why Scott always comes to you and I to work stuff out. He's the alpha but we're the advisors. If the advisors are divided, so is the alpha. So is the pack."

 Derek huffs. "I wish that didn't make sense."

 "Just keep it in mind. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to sleep because _guaranteed_ Scott will be here in the morning with Isaac wanting me to take them out to the Preserve for a run.

 "You actually do that?"

 "They're growing boys, Derek." Stiles admonishes playfully. "They need their exercise. Besides, it gets me out of the house and keeps me nice and primed for running for my life. They're helpful like that. Anyway, see you around."

 "Yeah."

 Stiles hangs up and plugs his phone in, managing the energy to kick off all his clothes except for his boxers and shut off his light before he's back in bed and fast asleep.

***

 Sure enough, Scott bounces on him at five sharp, looking hopeful with Isaac vibrating with excitement off to the side of the bed. "Stiles, get up. It's Saturday." Scott stage whispers.

 Stiles grumbles half-heartedly. He'd started doing this back when he'd still been not sleeping, when nightmares and Adderall had left him with only a handful of hours for it. Scott had been waking up early thrumming with energy and had been bad enough it even rivaled Stiles' ADD. So Stiles had started running him, taking him to the Preserve and telling him to run around and chase things until he felt better. Stiles hadn't joined in at first, but eventually the being chased by monsters thing sort of encouraged the practice. Isaac came shortly thereafter, being attached to Scott at the hip and all.

 Scott drags him into a sitting position and Isaac tosses him a shirt while still rooting around for basketball shorts.

 Stiles pulls it on with a weak sigh and swings out of bed to bat Isaac out of the way and get his own shorts. He grabs a pair of socks and turns to see two five-year-olds who just happen to look like eighteen-year-olds. "Did you bring water?" Stiles asks them.

 Both of their faces fall. "No."

 "Garage," Stiles sighs. "Get something to eat, too. For _all_ of us!"

 Scott shoves Isaac out the door, following him with an excited whoop. Stiles hears them either pound down the stairs or fall, but they bounce right back up and babble on their way to the car. Stiles grabs his phone and texts Derek, of all people.

  ** _Me:_** _You're children are menaces._

 Derek's response doesn't come immediately—Stiles is in the kitchen watching Isaac hunt for something quick and easy to eat while Scott fetches water—but he does respond. Stiles is a little surprised, honestly.

  ** _Sourwolf:_** _They're yours before seven._

_**Me:** NO. That is NOT how this is going to work, Derek Jasper Hale._

_**Sourwolf:** Peter tell you that?_

_**Me:** Cora, before she left. DON'T CHANGE THE SUBJECT._

"Stiles," Scott whines. "C'mon, hurry up and eat, we wanna _go_."

 "Oh my god, Scott, chill _out_."

 "Seriously, we're wasting time." Isaac puts in. "Derek wants me back at the house by eleven."

 "Why?"

 "Me, Erica, and Boyd are helping fix up the old place." Isaac says, shrugging. "I guess Derek's tired of slumming it in the loft."

 "Why hasn't he asked anyone else to help?" Scott wonders for Stiles, as the other boy devours a plum he's not a hundred percent sure isn't overripe.

 "I don't know. I guess we were _his_ pack, you know. I mean, we're all part of _your_ pack now, but it's different. We just have an understanding with him."

 Scott nods, but he still looks perplexed. Stiles decides to speak up for him. "That's the thing, though. We're all pack now. He should know he can ask us for help when he needs it."

 "I'll tell him that." Isaac promises. "But only if we go _now_."

 "God, I should make you run there."

 "I'd have to run at a human speed and that's no fun."

 "Get in the car." Stiles snaps, pointing. Both of them take off like a rocket. Stiles pulls out his phone.

  ** _Me:_** _I can't believe you didn't ask us for help with the house. I'm dragging everyone there and we're doing this together, as a PACK._

 Derek's response has Stiles torn between pride, annoyance, and a blush he can't fight off.

  ** _Sourwolf:_** _Yes, dear_

***

 "Remind me why I'm here." Stiles whines, hauling up part of his second load of boards to Derek, who's waiting patiently on the mostly intact porch.

 "You said we were going to do this as a _pack_."

 Stiles sneers and drops the boards into his arms. Derek doesn't even fumble them. "At least pretend to be sympathetic."

 "Poor Stiles, getting himself into things because he's a stubborn idiot that can't leave anything alone."

 "It's not like you fought me on it!"

 "Would that have helped?"

 Stiles huffs, turning on his heal. "Get back to work already. You're giving me a headache."

 Lydia saunters up as he's dragging another set of boards from his trunk. He starts a little, because even though he'd told her to come, he'd been pretty sure she wouldn't. He also wasn't sure she owned something with a crotch, so to see her in ratty jeans, a tanktop, tennis shoes, and what suspiciously looks like one of his flannel shirts is a bit of a shock to his system in itself. "Hey, Lyds."

 "Sorry, I wasn't awake when you texted." she says, sighing heavily and glaring at the house. "This is it so far?"

 "It's just been Derek and the Triplets working on it."

 "Meaning Derek and Boyd."

 "Right." Stiles agrees, handing her some of the boards. She lifts them with a grimace but not too much difficulty. He gathers another set and leads her towards the house.

 "I had a vision of this place." she tells him nonchalantly, though Stiles knows the significance of this admission. She never talks about what she sees or hears unless she has to.

 He decides to treat it like she is. "Oh yeah? Was it creepy and haunted looking?"

 "No." she says carefully. "It was…beautiful. Big. Brick and wood and a fireplace right over…" she turns a corner, blinking before she sets the boards down. Stiles does the same, since it's not like they aren't needed in here, and studies the burnt out fireplace Lydia's stepping towards.

 "Have you been in here?" Stiles asks carefully.

 "In the vision. And when…Peter. But I don't remember the last one, really."

 "Well, between you and Derek, maybe we can get this place back in order then." Stiles says softly, though cheerfully. He reaches out and touches her shoulder. "Alright?"

 That seems to shake her out of it. She nods, spinning on him. "Show me where to work."

 They walk into the kitchen just in time to catch the tail end of Erica and Derek snarling words at each other. Derek takes a step forward, but Erica only straightens her shoulders and flashes her eyes, growling something so low Stiles' ears don't pick it up.

 "Hey, what the hell?" he interrupts, stepping forward but not between them. "Guys, come on. Back down."

 Derek snarls, a feral noise, his eyes going electric blue and his fangs coming out.

 Erica's body tenses like she's about to pounce. Stiles does it first, grabbing their throats and squeezing hard. " _Stop it_." he snaps, shaking them.

 Erica comes down first, something akin to fear in her eyes as she does. She moves a step back, leaving Stiles room to let go and move between her and the still growly Derek. Stiles shakes him. "Derek," he growls. " _Stop._ "

 Derek goes to move forward but Stiles puts all his strength into shoving back. Derek snaps his teeth once and Stiles slaps him. That startles him out of his daze, eyes flickering back to hazel and widening on him. "Teeth." Stiles growls.

 Derek blinks and then his fangs slide away.

 Stiles lets him go and steps back, looking over to Erica. "Explain."

 "I…don't remember." she whispers.

 Stiles looks at Derek. He studies his feet very carefully. Turning back to Erica, he jerks his head to the door. "Take Lydia to the bathroom with Allison. Stay up there."

 Erica nods and slinks off, Lydia following her after sending a curious glance to Stiles. Stiles only nods. The moment he hears them on the stairs her turns to Derek. "What the hell, man?"

 "I don't know." Derek admits quietly. "She…she didn't mean to. She just said something about the house—maybe a suggestion to change it—and I reacted. I reacted badly, and so she reacted badly."

 "Has it been like this? Working with them?"

 "Sometimes," Derek admits. "Not that bad, though. They'll normally just drop it."

 "Why not today?"

 "I think it's because Scott's nearby. She told me I wasn't her alpha, and—and I don't want to be, I _don't_ , but it pissed me off."

 Stiles nods slowly, letting his hand slip down from Derek's throat to his collar bone. "Go take a breather. Run it off. You need it."

 Derek shakes his head, trying to move a step forward. Stiles holds him back, but only because Derek lets him. "What about—"

 "I'll handle things here for now." Stiles promises, forcing Derek to meet his eyes. "I should probably go coddle Erica a little. She's probably feeling really guilty right now."

 Derek pauses, studying his eyes. "I don't see you coddling me."

 Stiles smirks, a little flatly. "What do you think the run is for, Sourwolf?" he prompts softly.

 Derek's shoulder's drop. Something vulnerable, young and sad crosses his face. "I should apologize to Erica."

 "Let me talk to her first. Come back in fifteen or twenty minutes and you guys can hug it out, okay?"

 "God, we are parents." Derek whispers, horrified. "I'm the one who yells at them when my buttons are pushed and you're the one who fixes it."

 "I can be pissy, too, don't worry. You'll get your chance to play good cop." Stiles promises, patting Derek's chest. "Go run."

 Derek nods and ducks out. Stiles waits for a few minutes before making his way upstairs. Lydia and Allison have Erica between them, her head bowed and her shoulders shivering. Stiles raps on the newly completely doorframe. "Hey, Erica."

 She peaks up, tears wet in her eyes and eyeliner smeared—and why she was wearing eyeliner while working construction was beyond him—but the moment they meet eyes she lowers her head again. Lydia glances up at Stiles while Allison moves in closer to her.

 "Can we talk?"

 "Why, so you can yell at me some more?" she snaps.

 "No, so we can talk."

 Allison leans in and murmurs something to her. Erica sniffs, but she nods and the two other girls get up and brush past him. He steps in and kneels in front of Erica, who's perched on the edge of the toilet they'd placed just that morning. He sets a hand on her knee, squeezing. "You feel okay?"

 "I feel like an idiot." she snaps. "No thanks to you."

 "Because I stepped in?" Stiles prompts quietly.

 Erica only sniffles in response.

 "I was just trying to help." Stiles tells her carefully. "But I'm sorry. I just didn't want you guys to hurt each other."

 Erica completely collapses into him, throwing her arms around his neck. "I know, I know, and I didn't want to hurt him but I—I don't know why I said those things. And I'm not mad at you, not really, I just feel so guilty, Stiles."

 Stiles wraps his arms around her two, petting her hair carefully. "He's not mad at you, Erica, I promise."

 "I would be."

 "He's not. He's running it off. It'll be okay."

 She mumbles something into his neck, but it doesn't really feel like he needs to hear it. He pulls her away to meet her eyes. "You're going to be okay, alright? You and Derek both."

 "I know that. I just—I know Scott's my alpha, I like Scott as my alpha, but Derek is…he's my…he's…"

 "Erica, it's okay." Stiles assures her, cupping her cheeks. "Hey, it's okay."

 "I lost my dad, you know? I lost him because of the seizures and my grandma was so protective because of it and—and Derek, he saved me from that. He kept me safe and I owe him that, I owe him my life and Boyd and this whole _pack_ —"

 "Erica, hey, breathe. Breathe, okay?" She does, but it takes a few more minutes of pleading stares to make her do it. "How's a pack night sound, huh? Pile up in the loft and watch movies?"

 "You won't leave this time, right?"

 "Nah," he grins. "What's more fun than being roasted alive by werewolves?"

 "Nothing." Erica grumbles, hauling him back in for another hug.

***

 Erica drags Derek onto the couch the moment they all start piling up for the movie and promptly curls up on his lap. Derek seems a little surprised, but not nearly as surprised as Boyd. Boyd flops down next to him, letting out the tiniest of grumpy noises. Erica reaches over to link their fingers, which seems to make him feel a little better about it all.

 Isaac takes Derek's other side and Allison sits on his lap. Scott presses up between Isaac's leg and Derek's, with Allison's calf draped over his shoulder and Kira bundled up in his lap. Lydia shoves Stiles down into the loveseat and climbs on top of him, Malia taking the other side of his lap, and Stiles tries to remember at what point he stopped caring when beautiful women were sitting on him.

 He gives up rather quickly, instead focusing in on the little girl navigating her way through a magical labyrinth, lead by a morally ambiguous nature god. He knows that at least three of the people here can watch the movie without the subtitles, but Stiles is not one of them, so he's thankful when Lydia answers his questions without looking too put out about it.

 "Stiiiiles." comes a soft whine. Stiles blinks away from the movie reluctantly, locking eyes with a pouting Erica. Derek's carding his fingers through her hair and Boyd is squeezing her fingers in one large hand. Isaac has her legs in his lap and is rubbing them intermittently. Erica pouts when he locks eyes with her. "Will you make popcorn?"

 "There are three people here who speak fluent Spanish and another two who have already seen this." he complains.

 "Four, and you're already like fourteen lines behind." Malia offers, and Stiles frowns at her.

 "You realize this means I have to get up?"

 Malia pouts this time, directing a glare in Erica's direction.

 "But Stiles, you make the best popcorn!" Erica whines.

 Stiles can't argue that, at least. He sighs and rolls his eyes, shifting underneath Lydia and Malia, who both make discontented noises before letting him up and collapsing into a heap of their own. "I'm not getting up so you can have your place back." Lydia informs him primly without looking away from the screen.

 "Figures." Stiles snorts, wandering into the kitchen. He digs up the popcorn popper he's hidden in Derek's kitchen and sets about popping enough popcorn for seven superhumans, and him and Lydia. He's tapping his fingers on the counter, watching the popcorn jump with a sort of absent fascination when something brushes against his arm.

 He jumps and blinks at Derek wildly. "Oh, hi."

 "Thought I'd come make sure you didn't need help."

 "Nah. Erica's right, I make the best popcorn."

 "It's only because you make sure everyone get's their own." Derek tells him, smirking.

 Stiles grins. "Who's complaining, butter-and-cinnamon-sugar?"

 Derek looks down at his feet, tapping his fingers on his elbow. "How do you do that, anyway?"

 "Do what?" Stiles wonders, unplugging the popper and leaning down to pick up the stack of bowls he keeps together specifically for the pack's popcorn cravings.

 "Remember stuff like that."

 "Well, it's pretty easy. Scott likes his popcorn with just salt because the butter makes his mouth feel slimy and I eat it plain because Dad has to. Erica likes sugar and salt and butter and so does Isaac, while Boyd likes his with cheddar cheese. Malia likes plain like I do, because everything else tastes strange to her. Lydia claims to like plain, but I always put a little butter and salt on hers because she's a liar."

"And mine?"

 "Butter and cinnamon sugar." Stiles repeats, chewing on his lip as he splits popcorn into bowls. "I remember because you told me that's how your mom used to make it at Christmas. You said the smell of it on the tree was your favorite part, and she'd let you all eat the leftovers."

 Stiles doesn't startle as much as he thinks he should when Derek boxes him in from behind. "How do you remember that?" Derek asks, sounding somewhere between frustrated and awed.

 "I've always been good remembering things like that." Stiles repeats with a shrug. "It's…just something easy for me to remember."

 Derek's quiet for a long time, just braced behind Stiles. So close, yet not touching. Stiles turns suddenly, questions on the tip of his tongue, but all of them die the moment he locks eyes with him. Stiles mouth still falls open, though, traitorously.

 " _Stiles_ , where's the popcorn?" Erica whines.

 Derek snorts softly, and it makes Stiles realize how _close_ they are because he can feel it over his face. Stiles blinks a little, then swallows thickly and closes his eyes to shout back "Almost done!"

 "Derek, stop stealing Stiles!" Erica snaps. "He promised mepopcorn!"

 "We're gonna have to talk about this, aren't we?" Stiles guesses as quietly as possible, hopefully avoiding all other superhuman hearing senses except for Derek's.

 "We don't have to." Derek argues.

 Stiles opens his eyes, searching. "You want to."

 "I want a lot of things." Derek mumbles, practically breathes.

 " _Popcorn!_ " Erica whines.

 "I'm going to get in trouble if I don't get the popcorn out there."

 Derek moves back, nodding. Stiles turns and starts dishing and mixing different popcorns, handing Derek half before shaking himself out of whatever intimate moment they might have had and plastering a disapproving smile on his face. "You don't deserve popcorn." Stiles tells Erica flatly, even as Derek hands her and Isaac's bowl over.

 "Yeah, Erica, don't interrupt Mommy and Daddy when they're making out." Isaac teases.

 Stiles manages not to stumble, though he does sort of catch himself. Derek, however, upends his entire bowl of popcorn onto Isaac's head. Stiles snorts and flops into Derek's unused chair, watching Isaac complain about the mess.

 Derek catches his eye across the room and Stiles smirks, popping a kernel into his mouth. If Derek blushes, Stiles pretends not to notice.

***

 Stiles nearly kicks down the steel door to Derek's loft, but because he's a human he has to push the damn thing open, stumbling in the moment there's enough space to slip through. "I'm here! I'm here, what's—"

 He skids to a stop, blinking at the loft. It's mostly empty, except for Derek, in basketball shorts and tennis shoes. And the dozens of fake candles, flickering with artificial flame. "Um…"

 "What are you doing here?" Derek asks, frowning at him, a fake candle in one hand.

 "I got a text. _Your_ text." Stiles blurts, fumbling to reach for his phone. "You said it was an emergency."

 Derek frowns. "I didn't send you a message. I just got home from a run."

 "But, I—" Stiles blinks, waving the message at him helplessly.

 Derek stalks forward and snatches the phone, looking over the message— _911, get here NOW._ —and then sighing heavily. "It had to be Erica."

 "Erica? Why would Erica send me a 911 from your phone?"

 "The same reason she would cover my apartment in fake candles." Derek sighs, tossing Stiles' phone back to him.

 "And why would she do that?" Stiles asks, bewildered. When Derek just stares hard at him, it clicks. "Oh."

 Derek snorts and sets about turning off all the candles. Stiles doesn't really know what else to do, so he starts helping, flipping them off and gathering them onto Derek's coffee table. When they finish, they stand awkwardly in the dim room, the coffee table separating them. Derek clears his throat. "Do you…do you want something? To drink or eat or…"

 "I—I mean, I could go. If you want me to. You don't have to feel obligated to feed me just because your ex-beta tried to hook us up. I'm not going to, like, be mad or anything."

 "I was just asking if you wanted something." Derek says, laughing a little.

 Stiles feels himself blush, nods and sits on the couch heavily. "Yeah. Soda or something?"

 "Sure. I was going to have pizza for dinner, if you want."

 "No, I had pizza with Scott last night." Stiles says, relaxing into the cushions.

 "You want something else?" Derek calls out.

 "Italian would be nice."

 "Pizza is Italian." Derek says, handing off Stiles' soda and flopping onto the couch next to him.

 "I meant pasta, jackass." Stiles snorts, elbowing him. Derek hums, but Stiles catches the hint of a smirk. "So, now that we're here, I guess we could talk." he suggests.

 The smirks falls right away. "Talk?"

 "Well, Erica didn't do this by herself, you know. The entire pack probably had a hand in getting us here. I mean, when was the last time you had this place to yourself, Derek?"

 Derek sighs. "Well, you're not wrong."

 "When am I ever?" Stiles teases.

 Derek sends him a half-hearted glare. "So, you think they all set us up?"

 "I think that Scott asked me if I wanted to bone you last night at dinner."

 Derek snaps his gaze to Stiles, wide and frightened. Stiles shrugs and sips his soda. "Scott—he— _what?_ "

 "Well, okay, he didn't say it like that." Stiles admits, stretching his legs across the couch, kicking Derek in the process. "But it was brought up. The prospect of Mommy and Daddy having Mommy and Daddy time."

 "You disturb me."

 Stiles shrugs noncommittally and sips his soda. "Hey, are you going to turn on _Cake Boss_?"

 "God, no." Derek mutters, flipping on Netflix anyway. "So…what did he say? Exactly."

 " _Exactly?_ " Stiles asks, kicking Derek's leg again when he hovers over _American Horror Story_. "Dude, seriously? Our life revolves around shit like this. Just—no."

 "Stiles, focus." Derek sighs, but he continues flicking through the shows.

 "Oh, right. Scott's words were 'How come you and Derek haven't had sex yet?' To which I responded by saying that, besides the constant life-threatening battles getting in the way of romance, that you probably didn't want me. Or dick at all, for that matter." Stiles shrugs, then kicks again when Derek passes by _How I Met Your Mother_. "Hey, pick this one."

 "Why did you say that?"

 "Because despite its shitty ending it's actually a really funny show and I honestly think you should give it a shot."

 Derek sighs, passing a hand over his face. "Not the show, Stiles. Why did you say you thought I wouldn't want you?"

 "Previous observation?" Stiles shrugs and makes a grab for the remote. Derek keeps it out of his reach easily enough, though that puts Stiles hanging awkwardly across him. "Dude, come on, it's seriously a good show! Neil Patrick Harris is _so_ funny."

 "Stiles."

 "You liked _Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog_ , remember?"

 "Stiles, I'm not—"

 "And we watched the Tonys he hosted. You thought _that_ was good. And there's even singing in _How I Met Your Mother_! Not very often, but there is a little."

 "Stiles, I'm done talking about TV with you."

 Stiles pouts. "But I _really_ think that—"

 "If you shut up I'm going to kiss you."

 Stiles does shut up, but he also startles so badly that it knocks him off the couch and onto the floor, his elbow ineffectively trying to catch him on the coffee table. He yelps, clutching at the bruised joint as he gapes up at Derek. "S-sorry, I think I—I think I misheard."

 "You might've hit your head." Derek says, leaning over him. There's a moment where Stiles is dizzy with a mix of disappointment and relief, and then he's dizzy with trying to decide which one is more prevalent. Derek takes care of it though by smirking. "Even if you did, though, you didn't mishear me."

 "Well, just to clarify…" Stiles mumbles. "You _did_ say you were going to kiss me, right?"

 "I did."

 "Okay." Stiles sits up slowly, absently rubbing his elbow. "And…and you weren't just being sarcastic? Because I mean I'm pretty good at reading you and everything but sometimes you just are subtle so it's just—"

 "Stiles," Derek says slowly, quietly. "I will only kiss if you if _stop talking_."

 Stiles does stop talking, but only because his voice gives out. His mouth hangs open rather unattractively, but Derek fixes it by leaning in and kissing him. Actually, honest-to-god, mouth-on-mouth kissing. When he leans back again, Stiles sits for a moment with his mouth still in prime kissing position. Then he turns and presses his fingers to his lips, frowning. "Huh."

 "Thank you, Stiles, that was a lovely review of my kissing you." Derek huffs, leaning back into the couch.

 "No, it's—um…huh." Stiles narrows his eyes and studies the tips of his fingers. "Could we—?" Before he finishes he jumps up and grabs Derek's collar, pulling him down for another, much sloppier, kiss. Stiles sighs, turning to a better angle and licking into Derek's mouth. Derek growls, grabbing onto his elbows and hauling him upwards. Stiles scrambles into his lap, breaking the kiss for only a moment before he settles in and keeps going.

 Derek grabs his face and pulls him back. "So are we—we're—what?"

 "We're kissing." Stiles grins, just barely grazing Derek's bottom lip. "Or we were, before someone so rudely interrupted."

 "Right, but—" Stiles kisses him, interrupting him. "—but before we were—" Derek rocks into him now, sighing. "—I mean, the pack is—"

 "I thought I talked too much." Stiles laughs, leaning back. "If you want to talk about this now, I should not be sitting on your lap."

 "If I have to go through life listening to you talk, you will never leave my lap."

 "Rude." Stiles frowns, then considers it and shrugs. "But agreeable."

 Derek rolls his eyes.

 "So…can we go back to kissing or…"

 Derek nods and pulls him in again. Just before things start getting too exciting, though, Derek's phone goes off. If it were Stiles', they might've ignored it, but people don't call Derek. They just don't. So Stiles squirms off Derek's lap and snags his phone before Derek can. "It's Scott."

 Derek snatches it and answers curtly. There's a small pause and then he swears and hangs up, standing. Stiles scrambles to follow. "What is it? What's wrong?"

 "Isaac caught the scent of something while he was running today. It could be nothing."

 " _Or?_ " Stiles prompts, tugging on his shoes.

 "That's the thing." Derek sighs, tossing Stiles a jacket and grabbing his keys. "Or."

***

 If Stiles ever has to deal with a Phooka ever again, he's just going to turn tail and run. Because _this?_ This is ridiculous.

 The creature is following him. Not chasing, which would probably make Stiles more comfortable. No, the little fucking _thing_ is just leisurely keeping up behind him, occasionally humming or offering tiny bits of riddled advice. He's turned to yell obscenities at it more than once, but it just makes a snicker-like noise and dances up into the trees to disappear for a few moments.

 He has to stop, though. He can't keep running. He collapses onto a log, burying his hands into his hair. The Phooka lopes up onto the log a few feet beside him, picking at a handful of blackberries. It stretches out a bony arm to offer a some, but Stiles just dejectedly shakes his head. He knows the rules about eating from fae, and even if the Phooka isn't _technically_ fae, Stiles is careful.

 "Wolves don't feed rabbits." the Phooka mumbles picking at the berries. "Rabbits are skittish around paw prints."

 "You don't make any sense, you know that, right?" Stiles snaps.

 "Rabbits burrow at night."

 "If you're telling me to go home, I _won't_. I need to find my friends."

 The Phooka hums, head crooking an entire ninety degrees to the right, each eye blinking individually. Stiles winces and looks away. "Rabbits are flighty." the Phooka says. Stiles turns to snap something at it but is stunned into silence when he sees all twelve eyes trained on him, glowing yellow in the bed of dark fur. "Rabbits steal, rabbits hide. But foxes hunt."

 Stiles swallows thickly. "So which am I? A fox or a rabbit?"

 The Phooka smiles, eerily human teeth looking wrong on its face. It doesn't say anything, but Stiles gets the feeling that means he's finally said the right thing. He turns to study the woods he's become so lost in, thinks about the way they'd started together and then somehow just…gotten separated. They hadn't even noticed. Stiles hadn't noticed, anyway, not at first, and when he did the Phooka appeared, humming and plucking at the berries in his hand.

 But Stiles could figure this out. He wasn't stupid. If worse came to worse, he'd sit up all night and figure out which direction to turn in the morning. He knew the preserve was east of town. He could get out on his own if he needed to. Only...

 Only what if everyone else was still wandering around in the woods?

 "I'm not a rabbit." Stiles decides. "I'm not. I won't run from my friends because they're wolves and I won't stop looking for them."

 "A fox is made of points. Pointy teeth, pointy nose, pointy, pointy ears." the Phooka says sagely.

 "What does that even _mean?_ " Stiles snaps, standing to pace. "I'm going to call you Bilbo, because you have got to be a _master_ of riddles. I mean, how am I supposed to interpret that? Are you just listing random animal facts?" The Phooka only hums in response, which thoroughly frustrates Stiles. "Goddamn it, just give me my friends back!"

 "Wolves will howl to rally. Foxes do not rally. Foxes are alone."

"I'm not alone." Stiles growls. "I'll find them, or they'll find me. I'm not alone. I won't ever _be_ alone. They are _my_ pack, and I'm not going to let anyone hurt them! Even some stupid riddle-teller!"

 The Phooka's eyes all blink slowly, and something almost satisfied crosses it face. "Do foxes mate?"

 Stiles startles, because this is the first time this thing has actively seemed interested in hearing from him. "Do foxes mate? Of course they do. If they didn't, they'd be extinct."

 The Phooka sighs a little, looking sadly to his berries. "Rabbits do not mate. Rabbits breed. Wolves do not breed. Wolves mate. Do foxes breed or do foxes mate?"

 Stiles frowns. "Wait, this is some big convaluted metaphor, isn't it? Some sort of mind game?"

 The Phooka hums.

 Stiles sits again. "Just give me a minute. Let me just...okay, so...wolves. Obviously that stands for the pack. And...and rabbits, that must be humans? Then what are foxes? I mean, Kira's a kitsune, but that would be way too literal, so...so then what? If I'm a fox then I'm...brave? Clever?" Stiles chews on his lip. When it hits him, it hits him hard. "Oh. _Oh_. Rabbits run from paw prints. They run from the unknown. Humans don't know about wolves—about the pack, or you, or any of it—but that doesn't mean they aren't scared of it. But foxes hunt. Foxes know what's out there, they go searching for it. _I_ go searching for it. I don't know why, but there it is."

 "Pointy fox." the Phooka snickers.

 "And wolves mate. That is literal. Kind of. Because real wolves mate for life in the wild, whereas rabbits don't. So...so then..." Stiles trails off, frowning. "Are you asking me my intentions for Derek?"

 "Wolves and foxes can both bite." it tells him.

 "So you're just...making me think. Letting me know that Derek is going to take this seriously, and if I'm not prepared to do it then..."

 There's a long moment of relative silence, where all Stiles can hear is the Phooka chewing on berries and his own racing thoughts. Finally, he manages to shove them aside and turn to glare at the creature. "That still doesn't tell me what you did with my friends or where I can find them."

 The Phooka's tail twitches. "Wolves howl to rally." it repeats. Then it grins and taps Stiles in the forehead. "Pointy fox."

 Stiles is trying not to grimace when the sudden realization of what he needs to do hits him. "I just have to listen for them." he realizes. "They've probably found each other by howling. If I've wandered too far, I just have to wander back and listen." He sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Jesus Christ, Bilbo, why couldn't you just say that?"

 When he looks up, though, the Phooka is gone. There's nothing but crickets and creaking branches.

 He starts to wander back the way he's come. He looks behind him a lot, but there's no twelve glowing eyes staring at him, or tuneless humming. There's nothing back there. Just a lot of darkness.

 He hears them after maybe an hour of hiking and nearly cries. They're all howling, screaming into the sky, and Stiles races towards it so fast that when he comes crashing out of the trees it's right into Boyd. He doesn't even care, he just bulldozes him and sobs into his shirt. "I found you guys, thank god, I didn't think I would, I thought that fucking thing was going to keep me here forever."

 Derek rips him away from Boyd, eyes blue and frantically searching Stiles for any signs of injuries. "You're okay. You're okay?" he repeats the phrase a few times, sometimes questioning, sometimes in awe. Then he pulls Stiles into his chest. "Okay, okay…" he mutters into his hair.

 "Bilbo forgot to mention foxes and wolves can recognize voices." Stiles mumbles. Derek makes a questioning sound, but Stiles shrugs. "Just an observation."

 "What was it?" Scott asks. "We didn't see. There were all sorts of different smells and sounds and we all got lost, but none of us found it. Did you?"

 "A Phooka." Stiles mumbles, pulling away from Derek enough to get the word out. "It was a Phooka, and I named it Bilbo. I don't think it means anyone harm."

 "It separated us. It _took you_." Derek growls.

 "I think it just wanted to…tell me something."

 "Why?" Scott asks, bewildered.

 Stiles glares. "Thanks, Scott."

 He at least looks a little sheepish. "I just mean why would a Phooka be seeking you out to tell you something? What was it?"

 "Phookas are wise." Lydia puts in. "They give people advice, and steer them away from bad situations. They're, unfortunately, tricksters and get their kicks by playing tricks on people. In this case, separating us and giving Stiles advice in riddles."

 "What was the advice?" Isaac wonders.

 Stiles does not look at Derek when he shrugs. "Not important."

 "Well, obviously it was." Allison argues. "Because you're the only one it took."

 "It was just some random facts." Stiles half-lies. The words make it past the wolves' lie detector and they let it go.

***

 "Bullshit."

 Stiles raises an eyebrow at Scott questioningly. Scott's eyes narrow. "You sure?"

 "Yes." he decides.

 Stiles shrugs and flips his cards, the promised pair of aces. Scott curses and glares at him, picking up the pile of cards on the floor.

 "I don't get why you think this is training." Derek sighs from the couch.

 "I'm training Scott how to pick up on lies."

 "Bullshit." Scott laughs.

 "Or I'm teaching myself how to lie to werewolves." Stiles allows, grinning.

 "Why would you need to lie to us?" Derek wonders.

 "You guys take the surprise out of everything. Birthday presents, Christmas presents, Hanukkah presents..." Isaac whoops to show he's heard. "I'd like to be able to do cool things without you all knowing about it, too."

 "We appreciate the sentiment, Stiles." Erica coos from her spot next to Boyd.

 "You don't have to lie about presents. You just don't tell us what they are."

 "Are you telling me that none of these little shits hunts down their presents and guesses what it is until they get it?" Stiles demands, pointing at Scott as a reference. Scott doesn't even have the good grace to look sheepish.

 "Not to me, they don't." Derek agrees. "You guys do this?"

 "Oh, don't act surprised." Erica snorts. "You do it, too."

 "What? No I—"

 "She is absolutely right, you do." Stiles interrupts. "Last Christmas you guessed at every single present before you opened it. It's some stupid werewolf thing."

 Derek rolls his eyes. "So you're training yourself to lie to us for the sake of Christmas spirit."

 "And Hanukkah spirit. Well, that and in case." Stiles says, shrugging. He doesn't say in case of what, but he doesn't really have to. The entire room gets weirdly quiet.

 "Right." Derek says tightly. "In case."

 "Look, you know as well as I do that—"

 "Just because we know it, doesn't mean we like it." Scott mutters at his cards.

 "You guys train all the time for 'just in case.'" Stiles points out. "I'm just doing the same."

 "We would just rather your just in case training involved guns." Erica mumbles, curling up beside him.

 He slips an arm over her shoulder. "Just because you don't see me with guns doesn't mean I don't know how to use one. I'm the sheriff's kid. Gun safety is my thing."

 "You don't carry one with you." Scott accuses.

 "Don't need to." Stiles says, and he leaves it at that. He whips down four cards. "Two fours, an ace, and a joker."

 Later, when Derek and Stiles are the only two left in the loft, Derek brings it up again. "You should carry a gun on you."

 "You want to explain that to the school board or shall I?" Stiles wonders, laying two cards face down. "Jack and ten."

 "We can't always keep an eye on you." Derek mutters, picking at his cards. "Like with the Phooka."

 "You think a gun would've helped me out with the Phooka?" Stiles snorts.

 "I just want you to be safe, Stiles." Derek snaps, breaking the pretense of playing cards. "We all do. We can't spend all our time worrying about you. We _can't._ "

 Stiles swallows. "Lay down some cards, Derek." he orders.

 Derek stares at him for another long minute, but eventually he picks his cards back up and throws down three. "Ten and two fours."

 "Bullshit."

 Derek flips them over, the three kings staring up ominously.

 Stiles doesn't remember throwing his cards, but it's not really the most important part of the interaction either. The most important part is the way Derek's fingers dig into his hips and the hungry way they're kissing. Stiles pulls at Derek's hair until he can put words between them again. "You have to trust me. Just—just do that, please. Just trust me."

 "If you get hurt—"

 Stiles kisses him again, pushing until Derek's on his back. Derek rumbles, but it's not unpleasant. Stiles doesn't even flinch when his fingers scrape underneath his shirts. He does, however, have to stop kissing him to breathe. Derek watches him, eyes wide and dark and his fingers catching on the band of his jeans and tugging very dangerously. "I can't do it again. Do you understand that? I can't—I can't see you get hurt, not like with..." Derek trails off, his hands loosening as his eyes fit onto his shoulder, right where the shape of Scott's teeth are permanently etched into him.

 Stiles cups his jaw, bringing their eyes back together. "I would've thought you of all people would understand guns can't always protect you."

 "But they can help."

 "I'm as capable of protecting myself as I can be, Derek. There's nothing in the human realm of possibility that's going to keep me any safer."

 Derek isn't satisfied with the answer. He probably won't be unless Stiles promised to lock himself away in a tower and never answer the door. But Stiles kisses him until they can pretend like it's okay. Like they don't have to worry about how Stiles might survive tomorrow. Like they don't have to worry about anything.

***

 "It's about time."

 Stiles startles violently, as he always does, but Derek grumbles and hauls him back down against his side. Stiles relaxes for a moment before realizing the voice wasn't his and turning to frown up at Erica. "What are you talking about?" he grouses.

 "Mommy and Daddy finally got back together!" she coos, squirming to settle between their legs. Derek grunts unhappily, but allows it. "Or, together at all, as the case may be."

 "Derek." Stiles sighs, collapsing back into the pillows.

 "No." Derek mutters.

 "She was your beta first." Stiles reminds him.

 "She had a crush on you."

 "She actually kissed you."

 Derek snorts, his lips quirking up but his eyes staying closed.

 "Just let me stay." Erica pleads, splaying out across them. "Please? I'll be good, I promise."

 Stiles doesn't see a reason to say no, so he just sighs and turns his nose back into Derek's shoulder to fall asleep.

 He wakes up sweating and with the entire pack piled on top of him, minus Lydia, Allison, and Derek. He squirms a little, earning a few grunts and a few whines, but ultimately being unsuccessful. The noise must garner some attention, though, because he notices Derek grinning at him from the stairs. "Get your mutts off of me." he hisses.

 "They aren't mine, they're Scott's, and Scott is somewhere between Isaac and the tangle that is Malia and Kira."

 "I'm going to start wearing Axe again if you don't get me out of here."

 Derek chuckles, but he moves forward and whistles sharply. Everyone but Isaac, Boyd, and Erica snap to attention. The other three groan lazily and roll over, presumably used to the noise. But it allows Stiles to get enough leverage to wriggle his way out of the puppy pile. All of them make varying degrees of disappointed noises, but none of them really put in the effort to keeping him in bed. Once he's untwisted Malia's fingers from his shirt, he's free for a total of three seconds before Derek wraps his arms around his waist from behind.

 "You know," he muses into Stiles' ear. "This doesn't have to be all bad."

 "What doesn't?"

 "Being a pack parent."

 Stiles snorts, turning to smile at him. "What made you think any of it was going to be bad?"

 Derek kisses him, snorting when a chorus of grossed out noises comes from the pile on his bed. Stiles can't think of a single place he'd rather be.

**Author's Note:**

> *casually sets [my tumblr](http://www.thepainlessmoustache.tumblr.com) down*


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